


The Annual Meeting

by Galtori



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Sassy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 02:39:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17014014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galtori/pseuds/Galtori
Summary: There's been a break-in at Baker's Street. Again.What do you mean 'the second time today'?What do you mean 'more important than boring police work'?





	The Annual Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Very short fic based on a series of gifs at this web address: http://galtori.tumblr.com/post/75848772090/yoohoopuddin-the-annual-meeting-of-the-i-faked  
> Definitely not beta'd, definitely thrown together in a hurry, definitely from a long time ago, definitely part of me moving my written blurbs from Tumblr to AO3.

He approached the back door, taking care not to be seen. A pause, and what could be mistaken for fumbling keys allowed him to get the pick in place. After that, it was easy to slip in. The stupid land lady wasn’t there, so there was no need to conceal his identity. The additional fact that the man living in the flat (and the person he was really interested in) was also out helped. He didn’t have to conceal his footsteps or watch for the creaky step.

Once he entered the flat in question, he could settle in quite comfortably. Sherlock’s chair had to be the most relaxing spot in the flat. John’s chair was too stiff, and the couch wasn’t an option. Laying down would run the risk of putting odd creases in his suit.

“I’ll let you put the kettle on, dearie,” he called down the hall. The door to Sherlock’s room opened, and The Woman stepped out.

“What gave me away?” She asked as she pulled out the kettle and all the other necessities for tea. 

“The closed door,” he answered. He almost told her how obvious it was, but he wanted to save all the drama for their missing friend. She gave a small huff at that and busied herself with preparing the tea so she didn’t have to answer him. 

After what felt like an eternity of patiently and deliberately avoiding each other, they heard a key unlocking the door. Both visitors had distinct and different reactions. She stilled mid-stride, taking a sharp breath in. He, on the other hand, released his breath and straightened his posture. They waited with baited breath as the newest person took several steps up the stairs, paused, started to hurry up the stairs, but slowed as he reached the top. Then Sherlock Holmes entered his flat to find James Moriarty and Irene Adler waiting for him.

“Go ahead and bring out the tea, Ms. Adler,” he allowed after a few moments of glancing between them. Irene did so, settling it on one of the side tables.

“Good to see you again, Sherlock,” Moriarty greeted, flashing him a smile.

“You’re in my seat again,” Sherlock responded. Some people just had no manners, James thought.

“I got here first,” Moriarty responded. Irene made to pour tea for them when Sherlock stopped her.

“My tea set. I pour,” he stated, and Irene deferred after a moment of thought.

“As you wish,” she stated. She moved to sit in John’s chair when Sherlock gave her a near-scandalized work.

“I did not give you two permission to sit in our chairs!” He exclaimed, dragging another chair over before settling himself into John’s chair. Irene raised an eyebrow while Moriarty settled for giggling.

“Look at how he defends John’s territory. So chivalrous of you,” Moriarty applauded. With that matter settled, Sherlock poured their tea, and everyone took what they needed.

“So, welcome to the annual meeting of the ‘I Faked My Own Death’ club,” Moriarty stated with a small grin, glancing at the pair. Irene gave a dramatic sigh.

“Oh Sherlock, I told you not to invite him,” she sighed over her tea, shooting a vicious look at Moriarty.

“I told you not to invite her,” Moriarty all but whined, playing the part of the moaning little brother. Sherlock could certainly relate to that. Said man rolled his eyes in a manner quite like his older and far more boring brother.

“I didn’t invite either of you,” he retorted, looking thoroughly annoyed to be interrupted. But mid-sip, the detective stopped and lowered his cup. “So what would be of such paramount importance to bring both of you out of hiding, yet keep you from openly showing your faces? You both broke into the flat, showing a need for secrecy. Yet the fact that you are coming to me suggests a willingness to join as allies, even if temporarily.” Sherlock’s eyes practically danced inside his skull as the man pointed to the couch. “The couch is reserved for when the client is more than one person. You may keep your tea cups for now.” After a few moments, Moriarty and Irene both stood and sat on the couch, though they sat on complete opposite ends of the couch.

“Now,” Sherlock instructed, setting his own cup aside and tenting his fingers together. “Tell me about the case.”


End file.
